Heaven Sent
by blame it on the government
Summary: Tired and nearly delirious from exhaustion, the eldest Curtis brother stumbles upon a girl. She's hurt and needs a home. Darry, Superman, can provide support, structure, and, perhaps, a bit more.
1. Chapter 1

Darrel Curtis sat behind the wheel of his rickety, old Dodge, the engine roaring in his ears, the cab bouncing up and down against the rough asphalt beneath the tires. Outside the speeding vehicle, cold, icy rain slashed against the windshield. A mixture of the heat emanating out of the small vents, the white noise buzzing in his ears, and a lack of a proper night's rest for the fourth night in a row threatened to send the young man to sleep.

"Stay awake, Curtis," Darry muttered to himself.

It was the same story every week. Five days a week he roofed houses. Four nights a week he worked the graveyard shift at the rail yard. Both were hard jobs that required a large amount of energy. An eight hour shift doing either would send the fittest young man into a deep sleep at night. But Darry could not sleep. He got home from the rail yard with just enough time to clean up, grab some breakfast, and head to his next job. He got home from roofing houses at about four in the afternoon. He'd grab a few hours of sleep, eat dinner with his brothers, and then head out for his night's fill of work.

It was Friday today, the best and worst day at the same time. The good news was that at the conclusion of his day of roofing houses, he would get to come home and sleep all weekend if that's what suited him. It was the hardest day because a whole week's worth of getting nearly no sleep wanted to put him into dreamland in inopportune places, like on the roof of a two story house.

Darry hated being this tired. He found he could fight it after a while. A burst of adrenalin would course through his body every now and again. And he always brought along a thermos of coffee, strong and black, to drink as we worked his shifts. No, it wasn't the urge to sleep that brought him down. He just didn't like how he felt drunk or high after being sleep deprived for several days.

He felt funny now. Everything seemed incredibly funny, like how he lived in the state of Oklahoma, which abbreviated to OK.

"OK… that's funny," Darry muttered.

But then he shook his head. He lived in the state of OK, but things weren't always okay. Suddenly, his thoughts turned to his parents, how they were killed less than a year ago in an automobile accident. He thought of his father in particular, of how close they'd been, of how much they looked alike, of how much dad was proud of his eldest boy. A few tears trickled down Darry's face. He hurriedly wiped them away. He hated being tired! It made him too damn emotional.

And now, to make matters worse, his eyes were playing tricks on him. Ahead of him, sitting in the middle of the road, was a wingless angel. She sat on her knees in the orange glow of a streetlight, her back towards the speeding vehicle. Darry wasn't sure why he would hallucinate an angel. He had gone to church when his parents were alive, but he wasn't particularly religious now. Maybe he was subconscious was trying to guilt trip him. He revved up the engine, his foot pressing hard against the accelerator. He wanted to run that angel down. She didn't even exist after all.

As Darry approached the apparition, he expected her to disappear or fly away or something. But she didn't do any of those. Darry frowned hard. He had had hallucinations before, fleeting little insubstantial entities that went away as quickly as they appeared. But this one was different. She was a solid figure. Her shape didn't transform or bend. And when Darry closed his eyes and opened them, she sat in the same spot, unchanged, the rain beating relentlessly on her back.

She was real.

The realization couldn't have come sooner. Darry slammed on the breaks, swerving into the next lane, empty because it was the middle of the night. The car came to a screeching halt, and Darry stumbled out, breathing heavily into the icy air, suddenly very much awake.

"Jesus, lady!" Darry called into the air, his breath coming out in icy puffs.

He began walking towards the girl, his mouth turned up into a scowl. She could have caused a major accident, sitting like that in the middle of the road. But Darry felt the scowl begin to relax as he approached the girl. First of all, she was small, just a little kid. Second of all, there was blood, rusty swirls swimming through the rain water. For a minute, Darry's heart skipped a beat as the thought entered his head that maybe he did hit her after all.

The girl raised her head. Darry couldn't see her face because her thick, long dark hair covered it. With a shaking hand, the girl brushed the strands away.

"Christ," Darry swore under his breath.

Immediately, Darry was taken back to the day he found a member of his gang, Johnny, beat up, bleeding on the grass. His face was a mass of cuts and bruises. This girl looked similar, with a long four inch gash on her forehead.

"Are you all right?" Darry asked.

"I hurt," she whimpered.

It was raining, but Darry suspected that some of those droplets were tears. The girl wore only a white nightgown. She had her arms huddled to her chest, trying to keep the warmth in. Suddenly thinking clearly, Darry ripped his own coat off his body and draped it around the girl. Darry guessed her to be about twelve or thirteen. Who would beat up a little girl?

"Hey, we gotta get outta the middle of the road," Darry whispered. He reached out for the girl, but the child flinched away from his touch.

"I ain't gonna hurt you," Darry muttered. "I almost hit you. The next person along might kill ya."

Darry helped the girl up, and because he didn't know what else to do, he brought her to his truck. He opened the passenger side and helped her inside before taking his seat in the driver's seat.

"Who hurt you?" Darry asked.

The girl gripped Darry's jacket, hugging it tighter around her shoulders. She said nothing.

"I'll drive you home," Darry replied to the silence. "Just tell me where to turn."

"Take the right at the stop sign," the girl breathed. She had a small, whispery voice. She sounded scared.

"What's your name?" Darry asked. He stopped at the intersection, looked both ways, and then turned right.

"Molly," she replied.

"That's a very nice name," Darry smiled. "My name's Darry."

He turned to her and smiled warmly. She turned away.

"Where do I turn now?"

"Take another right on Sycamore. That's my street."

They were now on the street where Darry lived. He wasn't on a first name basis with all his neighbors, but he liked to think he could identify them all by face.

"Just tell me which house."

They were driving in the direction of the Curtis house, but instead of passing it, Molly pointed to it.

"I live it here."

Darry stopped the car and put it in park.

"You live here?" Darry asked, humoring the girl.

"Yes, I do."

Darry frowned. He couldn't tell if the girl was lying or confused. Who knows if the fall that gave her that gash addled her brain?

"This can't be your house."

"Why not?"

"Because this is where I live."

Molly looked down.

"Oh," she whispered.

"Just tell me where you live. I promise, I ain't gonna hurt you or nothin."

"It ain't you I'm worried about." She looked up at Darry with the bluest eyes he had ever seen. "Please, don't make me go home."

Suddenly, Darry thought of Johnny again, of how his parents beat him, how he always had that defeated look in his eyes.

"Ain't there another place I could take you?" Darry asked. "Maybe a friend's house?"

"No," Molly replied. The word came out clipped as a chocked sob burst through her lips.

There were people Darry could have called, places he could have taken the girl. But he would have been late for work, which would be another demerit, which might mean losing his job.

"Look," Darry started. "Why don't you just come in? You can get some sleep and we can talk about it in the morning. Okay?"

Molly looked uneasily up at Darry. The man could see the copious amounts of blood, caked into her dark hair, smeared onto her cheeks, obscuring, but not completely covering, the fresh purple bruises. The white nightgown, underneath his coat, revealed deep red patches of blood. He had never seen a sorrier looking child. Someone had severely hurt her.

"I ain't gonna hurt you," he said again, dropping his voice to a soothing whisper. "You don't have to come in if you don't want to, but it's very cold out here. You're gonna die of frost bite if you don't."

Molly nodded her head once, biting down on her lip.

Darry killed the engine before getting out of the car and helping Molly out. She limped to the front door. Darry saw that she wore no shoes, the bottoms of her feet bleeding freely. As he opened the unlocked door, he was tempted to get towels so the girl wouldn't drip all over the floor. Instead, he walked straight to the bathroom and began drawing a hot bath. From the linen closet he took out a towel, a wash cloth, and a pair of Pony's old pinstriped pajamas that he long outgrown.

"You can clean up in the bathroom," Darry said as he exited the steaming room. "I laid some clothes out for you."

Molly nodded once before limping to the bathroom. She left a trail of water and blood in her wake. Darry just shook his head before going into his own room to get ready for his next job. Usually, he liked a shower before work, but since the bathroom was already occupied, he was content with a dry, fresh change of clothes. When he was clad in a dry pair of long underwear, jeans, flannel shirt, and jacket, he located the first aid kit in his room and went to put a pot of coffee on.

He was drinking a cup, black, in the living room when Molly emerged from the bathroom clad in the old pajamas. She looked even younger and pathetic now, wearing those oversized clothes, the sleeves covering her hands, the pants bunching up around her ankles. All the blood was gone from her face now, revealing the full extent of her injuries, including the congealed gash on her forehead.

"Does it hurt?" Darry asked.

Molly put a small hand up to her face, gingerly touching a bruise on her cheek. She nodded once before shaking her head.

"It feels kind of numb," she replied softly.

Darry patted the spot next to him on the overstuffed sofa. Molly hesitated only slightly before sitting down next to him. She watched as the man besides her took out a bottle of rubbing alcohol and some gauze. He wetted the gauze before lightly dabbing at her forehead. She flinched away as it began to sting.

"I know it hurts," Darry muttered. "But it's gonna get infected if I don't clean it real well."

Molly sat still, cringing only slightly as Darry finished cleaning the wound, fixing a bandage around the top of her head.

"Lemme see your feet," Darry asked once her forehead had been tended to.

As Molly raised her feet, Darry inhaled a gust of air between his teeth. It looked like she had skidded on asphalt, whole flaps of skin pulled away from her body. Darry found a delicate pair of medical scissors in the first aid kit and began to gently cut away the loose skin. He rubbed them with alcohol before bandaging them up.

"Any other cuts?" Darry asked.

Molly nodded before gently lifting up her shirt.

"Shit," Darry swore and immediately wished he hadn't for Molly cringed at the rough language.

Molly's stomach was even worse than her face. The bruises were in various stages of healing, which told Darry that the little girl before him had a history of being beat. In addition to the internal injuries, a large cut spanned from her sternum all the way down past her navel. It looked superficial, though, cutting through only the top layers of skin. He cleaned it up, but didn't think it needed any bandaging.

"Are you hungry?" Darry asked as he tugged down the girl's shirt. "Tired?"

"Just tired," Molly replied.

"Well, I have to get to work. You can sleep on the couch." Darry walked to the linen closet near the bathroom and found a few blankets and an extra pillow. "Here are some blankets and a pillow."

Darry walked back in the room only to find that Molly had already fallen asleep. He spread the blankets over her small body, leaving the pillow on the floor besides her. If she wanted, she'd wake up and it'd be there.

Darry gave the girl an uneasy smiled before walking out the door, getting in his car, and driving to work.


	2. Chapter 2

By the time Ponyboy Curtis woke up, his older brother, Soda, was already showered, dressed, and in the kitchen cooking breakfast. Sleepily, Pony jammed himself into a pair of jeans and a gray t-shirt. He ran a comb through his hair and brushed his teeth before walking towards the smell of scrambling eggs.

"Morning, Pony," Soda muttered when he heard his brother enter the room.

"Morning," Pony muttered back. "Ugh, is it still raining?"

He looked out little kitchen window, shuddering.

"What, don't want your hair to get wet?" Soda laughed at his own joke, but Pony just shook his head.

"I got cross country practice today after school. I don't exactly fancy running in the rain." He shot a look at Soda, who stood at the stove, scrambling eggs and laughing his head off. "I'm going to check the morning news, see what they have to say about this rain."

Pony walked into the living room, but before he could switch on the television, he noticed the lump of blankets on the couch. That was weird. They weren't there when he and Soda went to bed, so that meant that Darry must have gotten them out. But as to why, Pony couldn't figure it out. He might as well fold them up and them away. He walked to the couch, grabbed a blanket, and immediately started back. There was a person in those blankets, a girl to be exact. He wasn't sure what he should do, so he walked back into the kitchen.

"What did the weather man say?" Soda asked as he poured the eggs onto two plates.

"Soda," Pony started, not sure how to continue. "There's a girl sleeping on our couch."

"What?" Soda dumped the frying pan into the sink, a wall of steam rising as it hit the water.

"There's a girl asleep on the couch," Pony repeated. "Come and see."

Soda placed the plates on the table before joining his brother in the living room. Just like Pony promised, there lay a sleeping girl. She had the blankets pulled over her face so that all you see was the top of her head. Soda pulled back the blankets so they could see her face.

"Damn," Soda muttered. "Someone messed her up good."

"Do you think she just wondered in?" Pony mused. "I don't know her. Do you?"

"Naw. And I can't exactly see Darry being pals with a twelve year old girl."

"What should we do?"

"Let her sleep. It looks like she's been to hell. And she don't look like no burglar. And if she was, it's ain't like we got a lot to steal."

Pony nodded as he headed back to the kitchen with his older brother. The two shared a hasty breakfast before grabbing their jackets and leaving the house. After all, an injured sleeping girl wasn't nearly the strangest thing they had ever seen on their living room couch.

XXX

Molly slept. She hadn't meant to fall asleep. But the warm water from the bath had felt so good. And those pajamas were so soft. And that man, Darry, had been so kind to her. She felt warm and safe, a feeling she hadn't felt in such a long time. She had planned on staying awake and leaving once Darry left. But she didn't even have a pair of shoes. Darry was right. She wouldn't last in the cold, winter night.

When she woke, the clock mounted on the wall told her it was eleven in the morning. She felt sore in places she didn't even know she had. Her head throbbed, agony coursing through her body with every heartbeat. She tried to remember the night before, but with every memory, her head hurt more and more. She didn't want to think of it.

She sat up, shaking the blankets off herself. She cringed as she stood up, her cut feet scraping painfully against the smooth floor. She had been in enough new houses before so that this felt commonplace, waking up in a strange place among people she hardly knew. But this was a little different. This man truly was a complete stranger. He could be anything… a murderer, a burglar…

…Or a perfectly nice guy.

Molly knew that not every guy was bad. She had met plenty of nice teachers and relatives and neighbors. But it only took a few to make her deathly afraid. She knew she should leave. She could probably find some shoes and a coat and maybe even some cash. She didn't know where she would go. She had plenty of family up north. Surely they would take her. But what if they called her mother? What if they sent her home? Out of the all the uncertainties she faced, she knew for sure that she could never go back home to live.

She limped around the house, looking at pictures on the walls and little knick-knacks on the bookshelves. She saw Darry in the pictures as well as two younger boys. They all looked alike, so Molly guessed they were Darry's brothers. There were also pictures of the boys' parents. Darry looked a lot like his father. She guessed that this place wouldn't be so bad to stay for a few days. She had lived in so many different places before. She could get used to this.

For a moment, Molly reminisced over her life. She had been born to a young, happy couple in the Midwest. Her father was a high school physics teacher, her mother a doting housewife. And then tragedy struck. When Molly was five, her father was crossing a street when a concrete mixer ran him over. Her mother couldn't cope with the death of her husband. She fell into such a depressive state that she couldn't even get out of bed. Her grandmother came for her granddaughter, and thus began an eight year period of living with various relatives.

While her grandmother was stern and old fashioned, she would have been content to serve out the remainder of her childhood with her. Grandmother's maid, Lucinda, always made breakfast in the morning and lunch in the afternoon when Molly came home for lunch. Grandmother always walked the child to school and back. And even though she was constantly reminding Molly to sit up straight and to keep her elbows off the table, she doted upon the child. She even sowed her a delicate little Angel costume for the annual Nativity story held at the church. But Grandmother fell and broke her hip. She couldn't walk by herself anymore and needed full time attention. She went to go live in a rest home and Molly went to go live with her mother's eldest sister, Nora.

She didn't mind Aunt Nora's too much either. She had nine children and a tenth one slid in easily enough. Molly had always been an only child, and it felt nice to be in so much hustle and bustle. But then Aunt Nora's husband lost his job and the family couldn't afford another child. So Molly was sent packing.

In her life, she lived on a farm in Ohio with her Uncle Steve and his ten children, in a small New York City apartment with her bachelor Uncle David, in Washington State with her older cousin Charlotte and her husband, in a nice suburban town in Michigan with her Aunt Elizabeth and her two children, and with a half a dozen others she couldn't remember exactly off the top of her head. She was living with her old, widowed great Aunt Marjorie in Wisconsin at the age of twelve when she received a phone call from her mother.

"Molly, baby," Mama had said in the receiver. Her voice sounded far away and scratchy. "How are you doing?"

"Good, Mama." Molly hadn't seen her own mother in three years and could hardly remember what she looked like. "Are you still sick?"

Molly hadn't been told much about her mother's condition, but whenever she asked why she couldn't see her only living parent, adults would simply say that Molly's mother was "sick."

"No, baby. Mama's all better." She sounded uneasy, like it she didn't like talking about it. "Molly, I'm calling to ask you if you want to come live with me."

"Just you and me, Mama?" Molly asked, almost hopeful.

"No, baby…" She trailed off, not offering any detail.

"Who else would live with us?"

"Honey, I'm getting married."

"Married?" Molly asked. She thought about what this would mean for her.

"Yeah, baby. I'm getting married to my fiancé, Eugene. He's an accountant and he has four boys close to your age. They'll be your brothers and Eugene will be your new father."

"Like a family," Molly mused. "I can't wait to sleep in my old bedroom."

"Well, Molly, sweetheart, we won't be living in Ohio anymore. Our new family lives in Oklahoma."

Molly shrugged even though her mother couldn't see her gesture over the phone. She had been the new kid in enough neighborhoods, started enough different schools, one more time would make no difference. It just made her feel good that this would be the last.

A week later, she found herself in Tulsa, Oklahoma. Her stepfather was a small balding man with four hulking sons. The twins, Mathew and Christopher, were sixteen and stood well over six feet tall. Jeremy was a year younger and while he stood half a foot shorter than his two brothers, he had broad shoulders and big feet, the tale tell signs that he would one day be as big as his older brothers. Joel was the youngest at the age of thirteen. He was just a tiny thing, coming up only to under Jeremy's chin. He wore glasses and had asthma and Molly got the distinct impression that the older boys bullied him.

A week later, Molly's mother and Eugene said their vows and thus began the most hellish years of Molly's life.

Molly shook her head. She didn't want to think about those things. She had more important things to consider, like would the other people who lived in this house come home, and when they did, what would they say? She figured she had some time before she had to deal with that, so she switched on the television and settled herself down back on the couch, trying to make herself comfortable in spite of her injuries.

XXX

It was three in the afternoon when Darry pulled up in front of his house. Molly had been on his mind all day, but he was too tired to really ponder her. With two days and three nights completely free in front of him, though, he was ready to sort everything out before crashing for the day.

He opened the door and walked in, the television blaring in the living room. Molly was on the couch, but her eyes were closed. Darry switched the TV off, and as he did, Molly's eyes fluttered wide open.

"I didn't mean to wake you," Darry muttered. "Go on back to sleep."

"No, I wasn't asleep," Molly muttered. She tried to rub the sleep out of her eyes, but she stopped when her injuries hurt too much to touch.

The girl looked even worse than yesterday. Her bruises had gone from being a deep red to a bright purple. They had expanded a little. Tomorrow, they'd look even worse.

"I'm gonna shower and change," Darry continued as he walked to his bedroom. "Then you're going to tell me your story."

"What story?" Molly asked.

"Don't play dumb with me," Darry said, hesitating at the door of the hallway. "People generally don't end up bleeding in the middle of road in the middle of the night. We're gonna get to the bottom of your story."

With that Darry turned and went into his room.

Molly glanced at the front door. It wasn't too late to leave, to find somewhere else to stay for a while. All she knew was that she couldn't go home.


	3. Chapter 3

For some reason, Darry half expected Molly to be gone when he stepped out of his bedroom showered and dressed. But there she sat in the exact same place on the sofa, a quilt wrapped around her shoulders, a look of acute attention on her wary, bruised face as she watched the television.

"Hungry?" Darry asked.

Molly's hands went to her stomach, as if the question she faced were a huge conundrum. After thinking for moment, she nodded her head.

"Come on." Darry motioned to the kitchen with a jerk of his head.

It was almost painful to watch as Molly pealed herself off the couch and began limping to the kitchen.

Darry was a hotheaded person and he knew that. Little things aggravated him, and it didn't take much to set him off. But if there was one thing in this whole world that he absolutely couldn't tolerate it was the hurting of a child. The only time he had hit his little brother, he couldn't forgive himself. He sat up for nights afterwards, repeating the incident, mentally kicking himself again and again. He might have been hotheaded, but he was not violent. It made him ill to look at Molly, to realize that somebody took a fist to her small body. He tried to think of things that would make someone hit a child. Maybe she took her daddy's car on a joy ride and crashed it. Maybe she left dinner on the stove for too long and burnt down the entire kitchen. In Darry's mind, it didn't matter what she did: she didn't deserve the treatment she got. Maybe she did nothing at all and her dad was just a brutal drunk. At any rate, he understood why she would prefer the cold, rainy night to her own home.

The two walked into the kitchen. Darry motioned to the table as he opened the refrigerator door.

"Go on and sit down," Darry muttered into the icebox. "You like egg salad?"

He took the silence as affirmation and took out a tub of egg salad Soda had made the night before and a loaf of wonder bread. He poured two large glasses of milk and set them on the table before sitting down himself. He fixed up two sandwiches, one for him and one for Molly. The girl stared uneasily up at Darry, only biting into her own sandwich after Darry had taken a huge bite out of his. Darry waited a few moments, let Molly eat for a minute, before he began his own questions.

"So, Molly," Darry began conversationally. He didn't know exactly what to ask, so he went for the kill. "What happened last night?"

Molly picked a chunk of dill pickle out of her salad and placed it on her tongue. She chewed slowly, delicately, before opening her mouth.

"What do you mean?" She asked simply.

"Now, dontcha go on giving me that," Darry replied, trying to keep is voice even, trying not to let it rise in volume. "You know exactly what I mean. How did you get hurt?"

Molly looked him square in the eyes, and Darry swore she could look into right into his soul with those piercing blue eyes.

"I fell," she said simply.

"You fell?" Darry repeated, and Molly nodded. He supposed he was an idiot for thinking it'd be that simple. He had seen a lot of falls in his life, and none of them could give you two black eyes and a series of bruises in various states of healing.

"How old are you?" Darry asked, hoping that if he just started talking and asking simple questions, the truth would eventually come out.

"I'm fourteen years old. How old are you?" She spat the question right back, but Darry didn't hesitate at all.

"I'm twenty," he shot back. "Where do you live?"

She didn't answer right away. She took a large bite out of her sandwich, chewed it slowly, took a long drink of milk.

"Over there." She gestured vaguely with her hand. "Do you live here alone?"

"I live here with my two younger brothers. Do you have any siblings?"

"Yeah," she replied uneasily. Darry felt like smiling. He felt like he was finally getting there.

"Brothers or sisters?" Darry asked.

"Brothers," she muttered back. She had a distant, far off look in her blue eyes. It absolutely broke Darry's heart.

"Older or younger?"

"Older… But they really aren't my brothers."

"What do you mean by that?"

"They're my stepbrothers," Molly shrugged.

"Are they nice to you?"

"I…" Molly put her sandwich down and shoved her plate away from her. "I ain't hungry anymore." She got up to leave, but Darry spoke up.

"Sit," he commanded. He kept his voice stern yet friendly. He didn't want to scare Molly. "I ain't done with you yet."

She sat back down, but she didn't look Darry in the eye.

"Now, Molly," he continued. "We can do this the easy or the hard way. Which will it be?" When Molly didn't reply, he continued speaking. "The hard way then." He stood up, scooting his chair back. "The phone is over there. I want you to call your parents to come and get you. I expect you out of my house by dinner time." He walked slowly to the kitchen door, waiting for it. He was nearly in the living room when he heard the small voice ring out.

"Please!" She called out. "Why are you doing this?"

Darry turned around with a soft smirk on his lips. He didn't really want to send her out.

"Because if you really fell, then there'd be nothing wrong with your own home. Now, since you don't want to go on home, you didn't really fall, did you?"

He leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest, looking Molly straight in the eye, beseeching her to tell him the truth. She broke after a few moments.

"You're right," she whispered. "I didn't fall."

Darry smiled up at her, resuming his seat next to her.

"See. That wasn't so hard, was it?"

"No," she shook her head.

"So tell me: what happened last night?"

Molly sighed deeply, shaking her head.

"It's a long story," she sighed, looking Darry straight in the eye.

"That's just fine," he replied, "considering I got all the time in the world."

"I really don't know where to start." She seemed uneasy as she fidgeted with the buttons of her old pajama top.

"Start at the beginning."

"You ain't gonna laugh at me, are ya?"

Darry looked Molly very seriously in the eye. He had laughed at things he wasn't proud of, at vulgar, sinful images. But there couldn't be anything funny about a hurt little kid.

"Scout's Honor," Darry smiled.

"Okay." Molly flashed Darry a small, sad smile. "I suppose I'll start when my daddy died. I was five years old." She paused, looking up at Darry as if she didn't know how to continue.

"My daddy died too," Darry whispered back, a soft look in his eyes. "And so did my mama."

"How old were you?"

"I was twenty."

Molly's went big as she realized the implications of those words.

"I'm sorry," she whispered back.

"It's all right. Just continue on with your story."

Molly detailed her life living with various relatives, how she had a mostly happy, if not sporadic and random, childhood. And then she got to the part where her mother marries Eugene. Her voice dropped an octave, her face darkened.

"I thought I had one the lottery. All of a sudden, I had a family of my very own, my mama and my new daddy and four brothers. I wouldn't ever have to move again. Eugene and his boys had been living in the same house since they was little. Their own mama died in that house. She slipped coming down the attic steps and broke her neck.

"The house… it ain't this far east, but it ain't that far west where all the rich people live. It only got four bedrooms and all of a sudden there were five kids. The twins, Mathew and Christopher, had always shared a room. But Jeremy and Joel had their own. I took Joel's room cause it was smaller, but Jeremy was mighty sore that I kicked his puny younger brother in with him.

"It didn't take but two months after the marriage was final for Jeremy to start sneaking into my room at night."

Molly stopped talking, turning away from Darry. She put a hand to her face, gingerly fingering the bruises on her face. After several moments of silence, Darry spoke up.

"What happened when Jeremy sneaked into your room?" he prompted.

"What do you think?" Molly snapped back, her body still turned away. "He told me I wasn't his real sister, that it was time for me to learn my place. Mathew and Christopher learned about Jeremy sneaking into my room after too long. Our rooms were right next to each other and they could hear the… ruckus. It woke em up. I hoped they would stop it, tell Jeremy off or something. Instead they joined in."

"How about the younger one, Joel?" Darry asked when Molly stopped talking. "What did he do?"

"He knew about it all along." She laughed a short, clipped cynical laugh, the kind of laugh that told you didn't really anything was funny. "He tried to make it stop. He confronted Mathew and Christopher and Jeremy and you know what they did? They beat him up. They shoved his head in a toilet and nearly drowned him, told him next time, they'd finish the job. And the same would go for me.

"Except I couldn't take it anymore. So I told Eugene. I would have told mama except by then she was sick again, staying in bed all. All Eugene did was laugh at me, told me to stop telling stories. I waited a week and told him again and instead of laughing, he got mad, told me if I told that story one more time, he'd lock me in the cellar for a week. So I told him it wasn't a story. Immediately, he grabbed my wrists, dragged me outside to where the cellar doors was and threw me inside.

"I don't know how long I stayed in there. It felt like eternity. Eugene cut a small hole in one of the doors and let me have some water. But I didn't eat the entire time I was in there. Joel told me I was in there for five days, but I think he was lying. I think I was in there for a week at least.

"Nothing was different when I got outta the cellar, cept Jeremy and the twins realized they could get away with anything."

Molly stopped talking and faced Darry, a single tear drop sliding down her cheek.

"I'm real sorry," Darry said softly, his own voice thick and husky like he was trying not to cry.

"I don't need your pity," Molly snapped back. "What's happened happened and none of us can change it."

Darry nodded his head. He understood the feeling.

"What about last night? What was so different?"

"There was…" Molly started, but she stopped, smiled, shook her head. "I keep a picture of my daddy in a little silver frame by my bed. It's small, nothing too fancy. But it's the only picture I got of him. Anyways, the twins came into my room last night and instead of… doing what they usually do, they grabbed the picture of my daddy. I told them to put it down, to get their grubby paws off a picture of my daddy. They called me all sorts of terrible names, told me I didn't tell them what to do. They got angry at me, began swinging punches. They knocked me into my bedframe. That's how I got this." Molly lightly touched the bandage on her head. "Then they dragged me across the floor. My nightgown rode up and there was a loose nail on the floorboard and that's how I got this." She touched her sternum. "And then all of a sudden, Joel came outta nowhere, caught em by surprise. Then they wanted to beat Joel up, so I was able to get away. I ran outta the front door. I didn't know where I was going.

"I just knew that I couldn't go back there."


	4. Chapter 4

Molly had a very subtle, soft southern drawl. And her voice carried majestically through the kitchen as she told her story, resonating off the toaster, the soft echoes whispering into Darry's ears. She seemed like a savvy kid, the type who knew the score. You didn't need to sugar coat the world for her because she had already taken a bite out of it and realized it had a bitter, acidic core.

"What happens now?" Molly asked when she finally stopped talking. She asked it matter-of-factly for she knew her future was a mass of unknowns.

If the girl had been lighthearted, if she hadn't already lived through so much, Darry would beat around the bush, used euphemisms until she finally understood what he was trying to say. But he had a feeling nothing would terribly surprise or upset the girl, so he said exactly what he meant in a precise way.

"Molly, I ain't gonna lie to you," Darry said, prefacing his words with what he hoped would buffer the sting. "But I already got two mouths to feed, and I'm working two jobs as it is just to do that. And I'm not sure I could support a third one."

"I gotcha," Molly replied. She smiled softly up Darry, sadness in her eyes. "I thank you kindly for your hospitality. You're right. I would be dead right now if it wasn't for you."

Molly stood up from the table and began hobbling towards the door. She was almost out of the kitchen when Darry stopped her.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"I heard you," she said simply. "I've lived in enough poor households to know how it goes."

"But you don't even have shoes," Darry pointed out. "Come on back here and let me finish what I was saying."

Molly shrugged and sat back down.

"Now what I was saying," Darry continued, "is that I ain't sure we can keep you permanently. But I do know that I can't throw you out like yesterday's garbage. Now, there must be someone you can call—a relative or a friend. I don't care where they live. If they want you, I'll spring for the bus ticket. In the meantime… it wouldn't be so terrible if you wanted to stay here. I ain't forcing you to do nothin, but I reckon any place is better than the streets. All right?"

Molly nodded her head.

"Thank you," she replied. "I don't think a stranger's ever been so nice to me before." Then, her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "You aren't after nothing, are you? I mean, you aren't expecting me to… do things for you, are you?"

Darry's eyes widened as he realized what Molly was trying to communicate to him.

"No… No. Golly, I ain't like that. I know what you've been through, and I just want you to know that you're safe here."

"I appreciate that." Molly swallowed hard, something on her mind. "But I was wondering if you could help me with something?"

"Shoot kid. What is it?"

"I was wondering if you could take me back to my house. I want to get some of my things."

"Sure. Just tell me when."

"Could we go now? Ain't no one home at this time on a Friday. That is, if you don't mind."

"Don't mind at all. Let me get you a coat and some shoes."

Five minutes later, Molly sat on the passenger side of Darry's old Dodge. She wore a pair of oversized canvas sneakers and a large old jean jacket. She felt odd, a mixture of relief and fear, relief because she finally found her way out, fear because she didn't know anything about the man sitting next to her.

But Molly also felt a little… embarrassed… ashamed? She had a general rule and that was she never talked about what happened at home. She had friends at school, and she went over to their houses to work on homework and for sleepovers. But they couldn't come over to her house because they might find out about Jeremy and the twins or how Eugene didn't care about her or about mama being sick. And now she had told this stranger her entire story. He knew the most intimate details about her life. Who knows if that information would come back to bite her later?

"Just tell me where to turn," Darry said as he ignited the engine.

"I ain't exactly sure where we are," Molly replied with a laugh.

"Just let me know when things start to look familiar."

Darry started in the direction where he found Molly, but she didn't say anything when they passed that little forlorn spot in the road. Darry continued driving west, and only after they had driven seven miles did Molly speak up.

She gave simple instructions and after a few turns, they showed up at a two story house with white shutters and a picket fence around the front. There were three major neighborhoods in Tulsa. There was the one Darry lived in, which housed blue color workers and their families. These included construction workers, plumbers, electricians and the like. On the opposite side of town, that's where the rich people live, the doctors and lawyers and big business men who own the biggest hotels and restaurants. Then there were the people in the middle, the accountants and school teachers and bankers, people who never had to worry about going to the poor house, but who would never be exactly rich either. Molly lived in the middle neighborhood.

"Park away from the house," Molly instructed. "Just down the street a bit in case somebody comes home."

Darry wordlessly agreed, parking two houses down and across the street.

"I'll be right back," Molly said as Darry put the truck in park. She then opened the door and slid out.

The early evening air felt cold on her skin. In the west, the sun had already begun to sink below the horizon, sans the usual fanfare of orange and blood red since the sky was still overcast. Molly's heart began to beat furiously in her chest. The what-ifs began swirling through her head. What if the twins come home their study group early? What if Jeremy skips his usual goofing off with his friends? What if Eugene doesn't hit his usual amount of rush hour traffic?

Molly stepped onto the front porch, her hand reaching out for the door. It was open, which didn't mean anything. Mama was always home. Quickly, quietly, she hurried up the steps, inwardly cringing as she headed up the creaky step. Besides for her own noisy self, she couldn't hear anybody else.

She hurriedly darted into her room and grabbed her old duffel bag. Instinctively, her hand went to her neck where she kept a little silver key. It wasn't there. Her mind went back to last night. She couldn't remember it being snatched from her neck, but it was only attached with an old piece of twine. Maybe the twins took it, but it was far more likely that it ended somewhere in her room. She looked under her bed, her dresser, and then hit the jackpot under her desk. She smiled to herself as she unlocked her roll top desk. She kept everything important in there like the silver locket her grandmother gave her before she went to the home, a few pretty pebbles, a conch shell from her trip to the beach when she was eight, and her life savings, a total of $154.19. She scooped all of these precious things into her bag as well as most of the contents from her drawers. When she was satisfied that she had everything that she would be sorry without, she gave one last forlorn look to her bedroom. She felt a little sad, not because she'd miss it, but because she could have loved that little room. She could have had fond memories of slumber parties, of four big brothers coming in to say goodnight, of her mother brushing her hair and helping her pick out outfits for sock hops and parties. Instead, the only thing the room held were bitter, sad mementos, little reminders of the worst moments of her life. With a little shake of her head, she closed the door, making her way down the hall to the master bedroom. Her mother wouldn't be in any state to talk, but Molly wanted to say goodbye.

"Mama?" Molly asked as she pushed open the bedroom door.

Like always, mama lay in bed, her back towards the door, the blankets pulled up to her chin. She looked so frail, her outline so thin the dim light.

"I love you, Mama," Molly said softly. She approached the edge of the bed, gently touching the woman on the shoulder. The woman flinched away from her daughter's touch, though, and Molly felt a lump rise to her throat.

"Bye, Mama." Molly backed out of the room and closed the door, gently wiping a tear from her face.

She began her way back down the hallway. She passed the twins' room and then Jeremy and Joel's. Their room was open and Molly paused as she walked by. She heard a soft sound, the sound of breathing, of moaning.

Cautiously, she peeked inside. She gasped audibly, the hand that didn't hold her bag covering her mouth.

On Joel's bed lay a battered, broken boy, his eyes so swollen from bruising that he couldn't even open them. If the boy hadn't been lying in Joel's bed, Molly wouldn't have recognized him. She rushed up besides Joel, the one brother who had always been nice to her, dropping her bag on the floor.

"Oh, Joel," she whispered. "What did they do to you?"

In response, Joel moaned a bit.

"Molly, is that you?" he whispered back. As he spoke, he revealed the inside of his mouth, the bright red of his split lips. "We thought you were gone. I heard the twins arguing in their room. They reckoned you froze to death on account you were so hurt and had nowhere to go. They thought they killed me." He tried to laugh, but he stopped short, his face contorting with pain. "Where did you go? Are you hurt bad?"

"Don't worry about me," Molly whispered. She took a hand, gently touching Joel's dark, curly hair. "I'm gonna go away. I can't tell you where, but it's a real nice place. Do you hurt bad?"

"Not too much," Joel said in such a way that you knew that opposite was true. "I think some of my ribs are broken, but I'm gonna be just fine. Hey, Molly, you couldn't take me with you, could you?" Joel's voice sounded hopeful, sad.

"I…" Molly started, not sure how to finish. "Not right now, Joel, but I'll come back for you."

"Promise?"

"I…"

"Please, Molly!" Joel begged. "Before you came, they always picked on me. I can't go back to that."

"Okay," Molly replied, confident all of a sudden although she barely had a place to stay. "I promise, Joel. I promise I'll come back for you."

XXX

Darry sat in the old Dodge, looking at the house as Molly gathered her things. He thought about Molly's story. It made him sad to think that such evils lived in the world. But then he thought of Johnny, of how his parents beat him. And of Dallas, who had no one at all besides the friends that could tolerate him. He thought about how sad it was that the only person who stood up for Molly had his head shoved in a toilet, and the only time she stood up for herself she was thrown in a cellar, so her only choice was to run. He felt a bit better knowing that he was doing what he could to help out a little girl with a big problem. But it still made him ill to think about.

A sturdy looking young man walked past the truck, startling Darry out of his thoughts. Darry watched the young man cross the street, heading towards Molly's house. Immediately, Darry made the connection that this must be one of the stepbrothers, one of the violent ones who hurt Molly. What would happen when he came in and saw Molly?

Darry felt uneasy, and because he didn't know what else to do, he got out of the truck and began walking towards the house.

XXX

"I have to go now, Joel," Molly said softly. She picked up her duffel bag and began heading towards the door when she heard the front door open and close.

She swore mentally, wondering who it could be. There were four options and all of them were bad. If it was Eugene, then he'd lock her away in either her room or the cellar. If it were the twins or Jeremy, then who knows what they would do? They could lock her up or hit her or something else equally as unpleasant.

She stood very still next to Joel for a few minutes, listening, deciding what to do. If the person went into the kitchen, then she could sneak down the stairs and out the front door. If he went into the living room, then she could sneak into the kitchen and out the back. The game would be up if he went upstairs. As she heard the person walk up the creaky steps, she began to cry, a few tears leaking out of the corners of her eyes. She pressed herself up against the wall so that no one would be able to see her unless he looked specifically in the room. She heard the person creep past the master bedroom. It wasn't Eugene then. Then the person crept past the twins' room. It wasn't Mathew or Christopher. That meant it could only be one person, Jeremy, would walk into Joel's room because it was also his.

Jeremy seemed a bit surprised when he walked into his room and saw Molly, clutching her duffel bag, a look of pure terror etched onto her bruised face.

"Well, well," Jeremy smiled a greasy little smile. "Look who came back. Too cold outside for you?"

He walked slowly towards her, his thumbs hooked menacingly in his pocket.

"I ain't afraid of you!" Molly cried.

"How brave of you," Jeremy laughed. "Let's see how you feel after I get done with you. Then I'll put you in the cellar and we'll figure out what to do with you when father and my brothers get home."

Jeremy reached out, closing his thumb and forefinger around Molly's wrist. He began dragging her out into the hallway, but Molly resisted.

"You little…" Jeremy seethed, rearing back, raising a fist to strike.

Molly flinched, closed her eyes, waiting to feel the sting of that fast striking against her face. She heard a loud, ominous crack, but, oddly, felt no pain. The grip on her arm loosened, and she opened her eyes. There stood Darry, Jeremy crumpled at his feet.

"I saw him coming in," Darry said, breathing hard. "I didn't know want to do, so I followed him inside. I hope ain't mad."

"Mad?" Molly asked. "I think you just saved my life. Let's get out of here before someone else decides to show."

Molly grabbed her duffel bag and with one last goodbye to Joel, Darry and Molly scrambled outside, got in the car, and drove off.


	5. Chapter 5

Soda felt his mind drift as he drove his younger brother home from school. He had just worked a ten hour shift at the DX station, and although his bodied ached from the exertion of the day, his mind felt alert and far from sleepy. Next to him, Ponyboy looked like he was about to keel over. Not only had he had an academically challenging day at school, he also had to run in the icy rain. His hair stuck to his forehead as he shivered in his school clothes. His soggy sweat suit lay in a bag on the old Ford's floorboards.

"I hope Darry made dinner," Pony muttered as he looked out the window, watching as a raindrop slid down the window, disappearing from sight as it reached the red painted metal of the truck. "I don't care much what it is, so long as it's hot."

"Darry's tired. Probably went to sleep," Soda muttered back as he carefully maneuvered the truck around a particularly large pothole filled with muddy rainwater. "But dontcha worry. I can whip up some tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches."

Soda turned to smile at his little brother only to be met with a scowl.

"Don't bother," Pony grumbled. "I reckon I'll just eat some of that egg salad you made last night."

Soda shrugged, not really in the mood to get into an argument. Sometimes Pony could be so childish, getting in moods for no reason, getting touchy with people who only meant to help. Soda knew his little brother was under an enormous strain to do well in school. If he did well, then he'd get into a good school, get a scholarship somewhere nice. If he didn't, then, well…

They arrived at the house and as Soda parked the car, he rid himself of any ill thoughts. The two boys jumped out of the car, bracing themselves against the cold as they huddled inside.

"Darry, we're home!" Soda shouted as he shut the door behind him. From the kitchen, he could smell a chicken roasting in the oven.

Pony and Soda wandered into the kitchen, hoping to greet their brother and catch a glimpse of the dinner menu. Both brothers seemed a little startled when they found the same girl who was sleeping on the couch earlier sitting at the kitchen table. Darry was standing by the stove, stirring a pot of boiling potatoes.

"Hey, Darry?" Soda asked as nonchalantly as he could.

Darry looked up and saw his brothers and then back towards the girl.

"Molly," Darry said with a slight nod, "these are my brothers, Sodapop and Ponyboy. Boys, this is Molly. Molly, won't you go and settle in?"

Molly looked to Darry before wordlessly getting up from her spot and disappearing down the hallway. Only when they heard a door open and then close did Darry tell the boys to take a seat.

"What's going on?" Soda asked. "She ain't like a long lost sister, is she?"

"No," Darry replied. He tried to control snickers coming from the corner of his mouth, but he failed. "Sorry, that's just the silliest thing I think I ever heard."

"Who is she then?" Pony asked.

Slowly, Darry began detailing how he found the girl in the middle of the night, about her sad story, of Jeremy and the twins and Eugene, and finally, about the poor battered boy he saw in Molly's house and how Molly would have been battered again if it weren't for him.

"I couldn't just toss her out," Darry continued. "And I sure as heck couldn't send her back home. I dunno… I just feel sorta responsible for her."

"This ain't gonna be a permanent arrangement, right?" Soda asked.

"Naw," Darry shook his head. "I told her we'd keep her until she found somewhere else."

"What a terrible story," Pony finally spoke up, his head turned down as he studied the cuticles of his fingernails. "Sometimes, I get to feeling sorry about myself. And then I hear stories like that and it makes me feel lucky for what I got. At least I don't ever got to worry about stuff like that happening to me."

Darry turned to his youngest brother and smiled broadly. Sometimes, Pony was moody and spacey, but when he said things like this, it made Darry remember what a kind and introspective person his brother was.

"I'm glad to help her out," Pony continued. "Maybe if someone helped Dallas out…"

He didn't finish his sentence, but he didn't have to. Both Soda and Darry thought back to their hot blooded friend with icy eyes and dangerous personality. If he had more people who loved him, more people to help him cope with both life and death, then maybe he would still be sitting amongst them.

The three brothers sat for a moment, each thinking his own thoughts when a loud sizzling sound filled the room. Darry jumped up and ran to the stove, removing the pot of potatoes before any more water could boil out over the top.

"Need any help?" Soda asked as he watched Darry taste a potato before draining them.

"Nah," Darry replied. "You two just get cleaned up for dinner. Everything is almost ready."

XXX

A quarter of an hour later, Darry had the table set, four place settings tonight instead of three. Tonight, Darry had prepared roast chicken, mashed potatoes, gravy, creamed corn, and biscuits. It felt nice to unwind after a long work week with a nice meal.

He walked to the boys' room and knocked softly on the door. He didn't wait for an answer before pushing open the door. Pony was just pulling a gray t-shirt over his head and Soda was viciously searching for something in his drawers.

"Seen my sock, Pony?" Soda asked.

"No," Pony replied with a shake of his head.

"Never mind. Found it."

Soda slipped a pair of socks onto his bare feet before either of the boys looked up and noticed Darry standing in the doorway.

"Dinner's ready."

Soda and Pony nodded and headed towards the door. Darry moved himself down the hallway to Soda's old room where Molly was staying. He knocked on the door, but he waited until he was invited before he opened the door. He walked a few steps in, surveying the room. It didn't look all that different than it did yesterday except Darry had changed the sheets and the few trinkets that Molly had scavenged from her room where placed on the dresser. Molly herself sat on her bed, fingering a little silver locket.

"Dinner's ready," he said softly.

"Okay," she replied.

She followed him into the kitchen where Soda and Pony already sat. They had taken the liberty of pouring everyone a glass of milk and now sat waiting politely for the other dinners to take their seats before starting their meals. Molly chose a seat between Darry and Soda as Pony began passing around the biscuits and then the potatoes.

They ate in companionable silence for several minutes before Ponyboy spoke up.

"So, Molly," he began, "do you go to the middle school?"

"No," she shook her head.

"Are you still in elementary school?" Pony asked.

"No," Molly replied. "I'm in the ninth grade."

"You are? Me too. Which school do you go to?"

"Same as you. I sit behind you in English."

"You do?" Pony's eyes went wide as he flushed red with embarrassment. "Golly… I…"

"It's all right," Molly smiled. "I transferred into your class from another period three days ago. And I don't exactly look like myself right now." She subconsciously touched the bruises on her face.

They finished the meal in an awkward, forced silence, Pony deeply aware that he probably just insulted the girl. Molly didn't seem to mind, though, as she enjoyed her supper, asking for seconds on everything except the chicken.

That night, when Molly fell asleep, she felt safe and warm for the first time in a very long time, her belly full. She just wished it could last.

XXX

"Can I use your phone?" Molly asked.

It was early in the morning. Soda hadn't even gotten up for work yet. Molly thought at this hour no one would be up, giving her ultimate privacy for phone conversation. But Darry was already up, drinking coffee and ready the morning paper.

"Of course," Darry replied, standing up. He showed Molly where the phone was mounted on the kitchen wall before taking his coffee and newspaper into the living to give Molly a little privacy talked on the phone.

Molly grasped the phone receiver, dialing a long distance number. She wished she had her address book with her list of phone numbers, but what was she going to do about it now? At least she had all the important numbers memorized.

She put the receiver up to her ear, hearing the line ring once, twice, three times. When it got to the tenth ring, she thought about hanging up. But then she heard a little click, some muffled noises in the background.

"Hello?" a tired, sleepy voiced asked.

"Aunt Piper?" Molly asked. Aunt Piper was her dad's youngest sister.

"Molly?" Aunt Piper asked. "Is that you? Why on Earth are you calling so early? Is everything all right?"

"Don't you still work the night shift at hospital?" Molly asked, suddenly very embarrassed that she would call at such a time.

"No. I haven't worked at the hospital in nearly six months." Aunt Piper yawned a very large, audible yawn. "Is everything all right?"

"Yes," Molly sighed, but then she couldn't help herself. "Oh, Aunt Piper, everything is awful!" Her voice cracked near the end of her exclamation, and although Aunt Piper could not see her niece, Molly knew that her aunt knew that she was crying.

Molly hiccupped a few times before she began to speak.

"Mama's sick again," Molly cried, her words nearly unintelligible. "She stays in bed all day. And that means I have to do to all the house work and cooking. And if I don't then I'm beat and…"

At this point, Aunt Piper stopped trying to keep up with the hasty, slurred words. She waited until Molly stopped for a breath before speaking again.

"Take a deep breath," Aunt Piper instructed. "And start over at the beginning. And go slowly. And remember to breathe."

Although Aunt Piper had a light, joking tone to her voice, Molly could also tell that she understood the gravity of the situation. Going slower this time, Molly wiped the tears from her voice and very slowly she began her story over again. She stopped telling the story at the point when she ran out of the house in the freezing rain, wearing nothing except her nightgown.

"Wait?" Aunt Piper asked, her voice thick with concern. "Where are you now? Are you someplace safe?"

"Yes," Molly sighed. "A man found me in the middle of the road yesterday morning and brought me to his house."

"A strange man?" Piper asked, her voice thick with suspicion.

"Well, he's not strange anymore." Molly squirmed, suddenly very defensive of the person who saved her life possibly twice.

"Molly!" Piper scolded. "That was a very dangerous thing you did. You have no idea what kind of intentions that man has for you."

"Didn't you listen to a word of my story?" Molly asked, incredulous and suddenly very angry at her aunt. "Look at what kind of intentions my own brothers had for me!"

"I'm sorry," Piper said, her voice softening. "I'm just very tired. Are you someplace safe, at least?"

"Yes… Aunt Piper, can I come live with you?"

There was an uncomfortable silence on the other end of the line and Molly knew without even hearing the answer what the verdict was.

"It's just not a good time for me," Piper explained. "But I'm going to make some calls for you and find someone to take you, all right?"

"All right," Molly agreed.

She hung up the phone without saying goodbye.

Why were the only people who even remotely wanted her complete strangers?


End file.
